


In Between Days

by glim



Category: Merlin (BBC) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-14
Updated: 2010-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-07 23:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Your mouth," Bradley said, uncertain of what his own was doing, "is perfect."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Between Days

_i_.

The first time he met Colin, even before talked, Bradley watched the movement of his speech, the quirk of his mouth and the tilt of his head, the shape of the words as they left his lips.

Part of the problem was that Colin was a bit shy and more than a bit Irish. A greater part seemed to be Bradley himself and the way he found himself drawn to Colin, to the very sound and shape of their conversation, missing what Colin had said before he shook Bradley's hand.

It was, oddly, easier to claim he couldn't understand Colin.

 

_ii._

The evening air was damp and cool; it smelled different from Devon, different from London, strange and fresh and foreign. Somewhere behind its chill, the slight breeze that ruffled up their hair and snuck under the hem of Bradley's tee shirt and jumper breathed a faint promise of summer days that had yet to arrive.

Colin pointed to a closed shop-front and lifted his chin in the same direction. He took a couple steps toward the building and smiled over his shoulder, a slight crinkle at the corner of his eye, his mouth.

Bradley already followed him, just like he'd followed Colin from their hotel, and their steps found an easy pattern of simultaneous footfalls against wet pavement.

The window of the darkened shop reflected the last rays of light that clung to the horizon after a day of clouds and drizzle. It showed Bradley his and Colin's reflection, too, a sunset and shadows snapshot image of the two of them, quiet and exhausted, the excitement and novelty of being in France not yet ebbing along with the adrenaline that had powered their first week here.

Colin's eyes flickered up to catch Bradley's, mirrored in the glass, and Bradley smiled.

_iii._

"What I don't understand is, you eat salad all the fucking time. How is it you're allergic to your main food source?"

A low chuckle, sounding from somewhere around Bradley's shoulder, and a tightness, a slow building warmth that started right at the very center of his chest and tried to pull in on itself lest it spill out from his chest to his stomach and his fingertips and his mouth.

"Only the tomatoes. Besides, I can eat them all right."

"You're really incredibly high maintenance aren't you?"

Colin shook his head and yawned. "I need to sleep the antihistamine off. You going to be all right here until dinner?"

"Somebody needs to stay with you, anyway, make sure you don't die of vegetable induced death."

"You're the one who's afraid of salad."

"My feelings about salad are much more sublime than fear."

Pliant with sleep and meds, Colin curved his body in against Bradley's and laughed that quiet, deep laugh once more. Somehow, without Bradley even realizing exactly what was going on, he'd managed to get them both sprawled out and tangled together on the trailer's camp bed, arms and legs and heartbeats fitting together in a haphazard, perfect manner.

Their days fit together like this, too, a flurry of filming and hastily shared meals, all those unspoken conversations they had. Like the one about how Bradley knew what Colin liked to eat for lunch and wear to sleep, how Colin could stop Bradley's words with a look before he uttered them, and the one how Bradley realized that, despite all his teasing and dragging Colin through Pierrefonds, it was he who had discovered one long summer day how easy it was to follow Colin – his words, his steps, his thoughts.

Sometimes his thoughts. Those were still enigmatically Colin-esque.

_iv._

"Your mouth," Bradley said, uncertain of what his own was doing, "is perfect." His lips felt a little numb, alcohol dulling the edge of his senses, and when he spoke the words themselves felt slow and foreign.

Colin gave a short gasp of surprised laughter in reply. "For what?"

This was how Bradley knew he'd had too much to drink and that he and Colin had spent too many hours of their first free Saturday night after filming wrapped in a tiny London pub theatre. Not because, after one production of _The Winter's Tale_ and what could only be quantified as too many drinks, his mouth wouldn't form words quite the way he wanted it to, or because he kept on noticing how Colin's lips were a little damp and half-parted, but because when he spoke, when his gaze settled on the slick shine of Colin's lower lip, he replied: "Mine."

"Oh. That. Don't think you ever mentioned."

"I don't think I ever noticed. Before."

Another breath of a laugh from Colin; he touched his mouth with the tips of two fingers, then smiled. "That I have a mouth?"

"Of course I noticed you have a mouth." Of course he'd noticed, during the long afternoons they spent with their heads bent over scripts and voices lowered to provide a running commentary on the scenes playing out around them, that Colin had a mouth, hands, and hair that ruffled up in the breeze that wound through Villers-Cotterêts. "I just never noticed you had a _mouth_."

Tonight, Colin's hair was rain-damp and clung to his temples, and the tips of his fingers brushed his lips once more before he rested his hand on Bradley's arm. Bradley had known this, too, the warmth of Colin's palm curved around his wrist or pressed to his back, the sound of his breath, calm and even to fill in the silent spaces between them that didn't demand they speak.

And he'd felt that touch how many times now? A million. A thousand thousand times, a thousand times as himself, a thousand more as Arthur, and probably a thousand other uncounted touches, Colin's fingers against his.

Now, this:

"Wait. Wait. Wait. Colin."

"Bradley?" His lips a sudden, firm pressure against Bradley's, Colin's mouth formed murmuring words and a slow-curving smile.

"Do you want –"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." Colin tugged Bradley's hand, drawing him in once again.

_v. _

"I've changed," Bradley murmured, half-awake, fully aware that those weren't the words he'd wanted to say right before he and Colin fell asleep. "I mean…"

"I know." Colin shifted behind him until the length of his body was pressed up against Bradley's, shoulders, chest, and hips, his legs tangled up with Bradley's, one foot rubbing against Bradley's calf and his one arm tucked tight around his waist. "We have."

"Do you… I'm not sure what that means."

"Me either."

Colin's bed was narrow, warmed by body heat and fleece blankets, and only really big enough for one person. It hadn't felt too small when they'd fallen onto it a few hours ago, the world slanting to a dizzy, drunk angle, and Colin had whispered along Bradley's collarbone. The scent of his hair and the length of his fingers against Bradley's skin suddenly had become new. And even his mouth, though he'd kissed Bradley first out on the street in the winter chill, Bradley had had to learn it all over again, as if all the other moments before he'd seen Colin gasp with pleasure had been mere window-glass reflections. Calling Colin's mouth perfect had been sort of a drunk-stupid thing to say, but it had been sort of frighteningly true.

It wasn't too small now, either, though the eager, desperate rush of arousal had faded and Bradley was not at all drunk anymore. Colin's body slotted against his nicely, like it always had, but now it held the same frightening truth that kissing Colin for the first time had.

"I can hear you thinking. Get some sleep," Colin said and kissed Bradley's shoulder. "I'll make you breakfast when we get out of bed."

"Weird vegetarian stuff?"

"Only if you ask nicely."

"Maybe I'll just stay in bed," Bradley replied, then, a few minutes later, added, "… are we still –"

"Yeah. Yeah, we are."

"What if we're not?"

Colin tensed behind Bradley. The hand he had at Bradley's chest slid to his waist and down his hip, he let out a sigh, and lifted himself up on the bed to look down at Bradley. "Then we're not, I suppose. But," he paused and traced the tips of his fingers over Bradley's forehead and cheek, "I figure I might as well try and put up with you in bed in addition to nearly everywhere else in my life."

"Hm." Bradley closed his eyes against the touch. He was different; everything was different; and this new longing inside him, this want to be touched by Colin, who knew him so well, was almost too different. "Maybe I will just stay in your bed."

Colin shook his head and bent down to kiss Bradley. "I'll find a way to coax you back out. Get some rest now, okay?"

And though following Colin on walks through winding roads and staircases had never proved difficult for Bradley, learning to follow him into sleep gave Bradley time to start wrapping himself around the newness between them.


End file.
